


down to bare skin

by ninemoons42



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ass Play, Butt Slapping, Established Relationship, Frottage, Gratuitous Smut, Inspired by Discord, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Prompto has a nice butt, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-18 19:17:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14858690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42
Summary: If you can't fix the problem, then maybe you can divert the person who's having the problem -- and lucky you, if you discover you like something new about your person in the process.





	down to bare skin

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this lovely fanart](http://baka-chanlove.tumblr.com/post/174595651856/love-is-love) and rather a lot of thirst on the FFXV Writers Discord XD

He’s walking the thin line between falling back asleep and falling awake, and there’s something pulling at the back of his mind, like a thought that there might be something missing, like a thought that there might be something that he’s lost and that he needs to find, and reluctantly he levers himself up from the pillows and --

The other side of the bed is cold.

The other side of the bed is empty.

Noctis looks around, hurriedly, and the first thing his eyes land on is the snaking curve and length of neon-pink on the opposite night-stand: a charging cable that leads to the flat dark matte of a smartphone.

And that means -- what does that mean? 

He reaches for his own phone and thumbs it back on, and he hits the shortcut for the flashlight function and -- 

The other side of the bed is empty and there’s no one in the room with him, which means he has to get up, and he does, grumbling, because his shoulders hurt and his knees hurt and his feet hurt -- too many hours of training and doing silly things like standing in meetings -- and maybe he’ll have words with Prompto about this whole thing, this whole waking up in the middle of the night thing, when it’s nicer and safer and better to be in bed --

Out one room and immediately into another, the only other, the couch and the tiny dining table and the even tinier kitchen, and -- the shadow standing at the windows. Slender frame, and the waking lights of Insomnia in hair sticking in every possible direction, and even from across the room Noctis can almost tell that there’s something that’s not right. Is it the hands clenched into fists that are the giveaway? Is it the rigid line of those shoulders? 

Is it the quiet long sigh that only sounds a little like a sob?

He’s awake. He’s completely awake. He’s at sea and he doesn’t know what to do, because something has gone wrong and Prompto is all but about to shatter, just the room between the two of them.

He doesn’t quite warp to Prompto’s side, but it’s a close-run thing, and he has to remember to hold back, just a little, and be gentle when he asks. “What’s wrong?”

Small choked-off sound of laughter, and it actually does sound like it’s halfway to tears, and he reads the sudden convulsive movement of those hands and he braces himself, opens his arms, just in time for Prompto to fall right into him. 

And gods and Astrals help him, but Noctis pulls him close, holds him tight, and he’d just as soon stop breathing as let him go -- 

Prompto’s arms like wiry steel banded around his waist. Prompto, in his arms, shaking only a little. Shivering only a little. There’s a draft somewhere in the room that’s threatening to cramp Noctis’s toes. 

“You gotta talk to someone about this,” he mutters, pressing kisses to Prompto’s hair between the words. “If it’s not me I’ll understand, because I’m pretty sure when I say I have problems, my problems won’t even be in the same country as yours.”

“Maybe not all of it. And, well, even if I could talk to someone what the hell would I say? What the hell could I tell them, when I don’t even know what’s wrong with me?”

He bites back the question that he thinks of, from time to time -- like right now, when he feels the slick-mottled smoothness of the wristband that Prompto is still wearing, like it’s locked onto his wrist -- he bites back the impulse to ask what’s beneath it. 

Distraction, he needs a distraction badly and -- from the way Prompto is muttering against the ragged collar of his shirt -- so does he.

“Kiss me?” he asks, against Prompto’s temple, against the warm skin. He imagines the beat of Prompto’s heart, almost loud enough to hear, there. Is it starting to speed up like his?

“Yeah,” is the response -- not a surprise -- what is surprising is the plain odd depths of Prompto, the depths visible in his eyes, when he finally looks up and Noctis can see him in the dim light of the room, the windows pouring badly-refracted light onto them. Shadows shifting in those eyes, and Noctis thinks he might drown in him for real, this time -- and that he’ll do, willingly, as he wouldn’t for anyone else. Not Ignis, not Gladio, not even Luna -- it’s Prompto he wants to drown in -- 

So he does: he closes the distance between them, and he means to be gentle, means to ease them both into whatever it is they’re going to wind up doing -- but Prompto nips at the corner of his mouth, and Noctis inhales at that sharp wild thrill of feeling and -- 

His arms, holding Prompto close; his hands, pressing them together. Down, down, those hands go, past shirt-hem and waist-band and he’s spreading out his fingers, he’s trying to span as much of the surface as he can, he’s trying to measure the plush curve and the firmness of Prompto’s ass and -- he wants, he wants -- 

Prompto’s laughter, dark against his cheek -- he wants to ask questions but now Prompto’s opening his mouth to him, and Noctis has never been able to resist him, not like this -- he kisses him deeply, then, tasting him past lingering minty toothpaste, past the taste of lukewarm water. He runs his tongue over the edges of Prompto’s teeth and smiles, a little, when that makes Prompto groan -- and then he’s the one being kissed and Noctis yields, nothing but willing, because he wants Prompto to do this, to know him like this, and Prompto takes his breath away, but not because of the kiss.

It’s because Prompto is grinding his ass right into his hands. 

And he pulls away -- he doesn’t know why the sound he hears after that is so disappointed, nor does he know which one of them made that sound -- and he catches Prompto’s gaze once again. “This okay?”

“What is?”

Instead of saying it out loud he just goes ahead and does it: he presses his hands, his fingertips, more deeply, into Prompto.

Sharp gasp, and those eyes widening helplessly -- and then Prompto says, “Maybe don’t stop.”

“I don’t want to,” he says, and he smiles when Prompto rocks against him, once and then twice and then he just doesn’t stop any more, and Noctis can dare, can pull Prompto close, all the way, the two of them touching from shoulders to thighs and grinding together, lost in the friction of it, nearly skin to skin except for the thin layers that they’re still wearing, thin layers of worn sleepwear.

Noctis loses track of the world after a moment, when Prompto moans his name and kisses him again -- 

Whistle of the cruel cold wind and -- cramp, cramp that eats at his toes, at his calves, he’s going to wobble or he’s going to fall -- 

“Noct,” he hears Prompto say.

Prompto, who is carefully walking him over to the couch, somehow managing it without breaking away.

Fuck. He can feel the flex of Prompto’s ass this way, the movement of his muscles, the strength of him that he hides for some reason -- and fuck reason, Noctis thinks, grateful and glad when they make it to the sofa and Prompto bears him down into the cushions, into the wide plane of it.

This time he controls the pace -- this time he pulls Prompto’s shorts down and -- oh, he hasn’t been wearing anything underneath, that’s sneaky and that’s nice, and he gives in to the desperate urge to let go of one round cheek, only to -- _whack_ \-- not even a hard slap, it doesn’t even make Noctis’s hand tingle afterwards, it’s just enough to produce a sound they can hear.

Prompto goes absolutely still above him.

He blinks, and maybe thinks he has to apologize -- 

He shouts, instead, something garbled, something like awe and something like pure need, when Prompto squirms right atop him and somehow the movement ends with Prompto sprawled out and naked, and the rapid puffs of his hot breath, right against Noctis’s collar. 

“Do it again? Please?”

Light slaps, he has to remind himself, light slaps, because no way he’s gonna hurt Prompto, not even accidentally -- and yet every impact rings out in the room and Prompto gasps, every time, and the sounds he makes go straight to Noctis’s cock. He can feel the wet spot he’s creating in his shorts. He can feel the wet spot Prompto’s creating on those same shorts. 

Gods, he wants, how he wants him, and he’s thinking of all kinds of things he wants to do to him: smack him and then kiss him to make it feel better, and what does that part of him taste like? Bite. Carefully. Bite him and lick him and then shake him a little. Or he could make Prompto sit on the couch and he could blow him, one hand on his cock and one hand on his ass, he thinks that’d be fantastic.

And he doesn’t get to do any of those things because Prompto is biting at his collar, literally, through the shirt and so the edges of his teeth are in Noctis’s skin and -- that’s enough to blank out his mind and now all he wants is to rut right against Prompto, maybe get him to help get them both off and he’ll have to do it because Noctis doesn’t want to let go of his ass. Not now. Maybe not ever.

“Noctis,” he hears Prompto whisper, dazed laughter, high thin needy note. 

“Help me,” he hisses in return.

“Way ahead of you,” and Prompto’s pulling at Noctis’s clothes, none too gently, and the errant scrape of nails against skin only makes Noctis hiss, only makes him yank Prompto back in -- and he kneads Prompto’s ass roughly, laughing when Prompto whines and rocks against him -- pressing their cocks together, and then pressing his ass even further into Noctis’s hands -- 

“Come on, come on,” he hears Prompto say, growling now, and he growls right back and rears up for a kiss, for their teeth clashing together and their tongues tangling, the grind of their bodies spiraling and finally the edge of his need finds him, throws him over, and he distantly feels Prompto freeze and sob against him, distantly feels the shudder as he comes, too.

(There’s an interesting collection of bruises on Prompto, when they wake up: and Noctis makes a point of staring at his ass -- discreetly, but he does it, grinning every time Prompto catches him -- for the entire day.)

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on Tumblr at my FFXV sideblog [@ninemoons42-lestallumhaven](http://ninemoons42-lestallumhaven.tumblr.com/) or at my main [@ninemoons42](http://ninemoons42.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
